Heartworms
Sleaford Mods support act, Heartworms, were great. A three-piece punk band fronted by a fierce female lead, brimming with energy. They came out aggressive, opening with spoken word that really resonated before sliding effortlessly into a full-on, flavour-packed assault.
Sleaford Mods
Walking into a Sleaford Mods gig feels less like a night out and more like stepping into a live audit of modern Britain. There’s no spectacle, no softening of the edges. Just a room, a crowd, a laptop, a mic, and the uncomfortable thrill of knowing you’re about to be told a few home truths.
They open with The Unwrap, which does exactly that, cracking the room open instantly. The Good Life follows, soaked in bitter humour, before Megaton and T.C.R. lock everyone into that unmistakable Mods rhythm. Heavy beats, clipped delivery, tension buzzing just beneath the surface. There’s no easing in and no small talk. This is straight to the point.
The early run sets the tone. Dad’s Corner lands like an overheard conversation you weren’t meant to hear, sharply observed and uncomfortably familiar.
Shoving the Images and Flood the Zone grind forward with industrial force, while I Don’t Rate You gets one of the biggest reactions of the night, shouted back not for fun but because it resonates. Gina Was keeps the blade sharp, humour and venom sharing the same breath.
Then comes No Touch, featuring Sue Tompkins, and the room shifts. Not calmer and not softer, just more focused. Her presence brings a different texture, angular and hypnotic, and it works perfectly as a pivot point in the set. It’s a reminder that Sleaford Mods know exactly when to change the shape of the noise without losing its bite.
The UK GRIM section feels like the spine of the night.
UK GRIM itself is confrontational and current, a mirror held up without flinching. Elitist G.O.A.T. sneers, Kebab Spider leans into dark humour, Bad Santa laughs through clenched teeth, and The Demise of Planet X feels quietly apocalyptic in a very British way. It’s the end of the world, delivered under strip lighting and mild inconvenience.
From there, the energy ramps up again. Bang Someone Out does exactly what it promises. A Little Ditty briefly throws the crowd off balance before Kill List tightens the room once more. Mork n Mindy brings that familiar Mods contradiction, where people are half dancing, half seething, and completely engaged.
This isn’t usually my type of music. But the first time I saw Sleaford Mods perform Jobseeker on Jools Holland, the visceral delivery and raw conviction won me over instantly. That same passion is on full display here, at my first chance to see them live. It never feels performative or polished. It feels necessary. For me, Sleaford Mods are modern punk poets, turning everyday frustration into something sharp, articulate, and impossible to ignore.
The closing stretch is pure connection. Double Diamond and Force 10 From Navarone feel communal, the crowd fully locked in now. Then comes the curveball, a deadpan and brilliant take on West End Girls by Pet Shop Boys, which lands less as novelty and more as commentary. Smiles spread, disbelief turns to appreciation.
There’s no gentle goodbye. Tied Up in Nottz feels like home turf wherever you’re standing. Jobseeker arrives like a sermon everyone knows by heart, arms raised, voices loud, frustration shared. Tweet Tweet closes the night, sending the room out buzzing, battered, and oddly uplifted.
Sleaford Mods don’t offer escapism. They offer recognition. They take the mundane, the irritating, and the quietly infuriating parts of everyday life and turn them into something you can shout back at. Urgent, funny, furious, and very now.
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